


Establishing Rapport

by therumjournals



Series: Therapy AU [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:26:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therumjournals/pseuds/therumjournals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard McCoy is a terrible therapist.  Jim Kirk is a terrible government employee.  (A dialogue-heavy present-day AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Establishing Rapport

  
“Hi there. I’m Doctor Leonard McCoy.”  
“Jim Kirk.”  
“Hi Jim.”  
“Call me Mr. Kirk.”  
“Jim, I think it would be easier for me to really get to know you and talk to you if we’re on a first name basis.”  
“Okay. Leonard.”  
Dr. McCoy furrowed his eyebrows. “Fine.”

Jim smiled and flopped onto the couch, his head on the armrest.  
“Jim, what brings you to my office today?”  
“I’m bored.”  
“Surely you could think of something more entertaining to do than visit a therapist.”  
“I mean, I’m bored at work. Every day.”  
“I see. It says here you’re a government employee.”  
“Yeah, that should read ‘cube rat’. Or possibly ‘dead weight’.”  
“Have you considered another occupation?”  
“Yeah. I considered being an astronaut.”  
“I mean, have you considered another occupation since you were 8.”  
“Hey, are you allowed to be sarcastic? I thought you were supposed to be helpful and supportive and friendly and shit.”  
“Yeah, well, it’s harder than you think.”  
Jim sat up and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I’m very friendly.”  
Dr. McCoy raised an eyebrow. “I can see that.”  
“And I can see you, checking me out.” He sat back, pleased at his little observation.  
Dr. McCoy flushed slightly. He reminded himself that he was a professional and that he was used to dealing with the emotionally disturbed and delusional.  
“Jim, can we get back to talking about you and your issues?”  
“Sure. I’ve got lots of them.”  
“I’m beginning to see that,” McCoy muttered. To Jim, he said, “Now, you’re here because you’re unsatisfied with your job?”  
“Whatever. Let’s not talk about work. Hey, do you want to get dinner?”  
“Jim, I do not ‘get dinner’ with patients.”  
“No?” Jim looked surprised. “Not even takeout?”  
“Not even takeout.”  
“Fine.” Jim lay back down on the couch.  
“Can we talk about work now?”  
“Okay.”  
“So, you don’t like your job.”  
“Does anyone like their job? Do you like your job?” Jim twisted around so his head was hanging upside down from the couch and his feet were propped up on the wall. “I bet I could do your job. I bet you could do my job. You know how to use Excel, right?”  
McCoy rolled his eyes. “Actually, no.”  
“No?!” Jim sat up again. “Seriously?”  
“My secretary handles that kind of thing. Computers.”  
“Lucky.” Jim flopped onto the couch, this time on his stomach. He propped his head on his hands. “I’m very bright, actually.”  
“I’m sure you are,” said McCoy absently, doodling on his notebook.  
“My aptitude tests were off the charts,” Jim added nonchalantly.  
McCoy raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”  
“Yup.”  
“Then why is it that you are in a low-level government position…a cube rat, as you called it?”  
“They wanted me to be a manager or something, I don’t know. I said no thanks. Too much work.”  
“But now you have too little work.”  
“I consider sticking pencils in the ceiling a very valuable use of my time.”  
“And how does your boss feel about that?”  
“Ummmm…”  
McCoy gave him a questioning look.  
“I’m trying to think which one my boss is.”  
“Jim, are you sure you’re actually employed?”  
“I get a paycheck every two weeks.”  
“Does it have your name on it?”  
“Wait, what’s my name again?” He winked. “I’m kidding. Yes, it has my name on it.”  
“What exactly is it that you were hired to do?”  
“Look, this whole talking about work thing is really getting me down. Can we talk about something else?”  
“Sure. How is your relationship with your mother?”  
“You’re not seriously asking me that. Do you have a checklist there or something?”  
He peered over McCoy’s clipboard. “Heh. Nice stick figure you drew there. Wait, is that a little knife stabbing it? Oh that’s good. Very creative.”  
McCoy stood up, pulling the clipboard close to his chest, annoyed. “Look Jim, why don’t you come back another day when you’re ready to take these therapy sessions seriously.”  
“You want me to come back?”  
“If you’d like.”  
“Are you gonna make me talk about work?”  
“Probably.”  
“Will you show me your little stick figure drawings at the end?”  
McCoy sighed. “Sure.”  
“Great. I’ll come back. Tomorrow?”  
“No.”  
“Too soon?”  
“Way too soon.”  
“Next week then.”  
“I can’t wait.”  
Jim turned to leave. He stopped and looked back at McCoy.  
“Bye Leonard.”  
“Bye Jim.”  
“I love you.”  
Dr. McCoy waved a hand in his direction and Jim skipped out the door.

* * *

“Jim. You came back.”  
“Hey Leonard. Miss me?”  
“I’m glad to see that you’ve decided to continue our sessions.”  
“Uh, yeah. Hello. Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately?”  
“I’m sorry?”  
“You’re hot. I would not miss an opportunity to look at you. And to, you know, be therapized by you.”  
“I…okay…let’s talk about you.”  
Jim sat back, grinning. “I could really get used to this.”  
“How was your week, Jim?”  
“Boring.”  
“Please elaborate.”  
“That’s the point, Doc, there’s nothing to elaborate. I went to work, stared at the wall, read the Ikea catalogue...”  
“Did you do any work?”  
Jim’s eyebrow went up. He looked confused. “Um, sure.”  
“What did you do at work?”  
“I went to meetings…uhhh…typed stuff…”  
“I’d really like to meet your boss.”  
“I’d like to meet yours.”  
“I don’t have a boss, Jim. I’m a therapist.”  
“Okay, fine. I’m just saying, you seem like you could use a little guidance.”  
McCoy stared at him. “Jim? We’re talking about you here.”  
“Okay. I crave attention.”  
“I had a feeling that might be the case.”  
“I grew up without a reliable father figure.”  
“Okay…”  
“Would you like to know about my sexual exploits?”  
“God, no.”  
“Really? I thought that was part of your job. Might give you insight into my psyche.”  
McCoy held his head in his hands “I’ve lost all control,” he mumbled. “Seriously. I can’t even…”  
“Leonard, may I stalk you.”  
“What? No!”  
“Fine. Can I come visit you for an hour once a week?”  
“Jim, that’s called making an appointment. Obviously, you can do that, and in fact, I think it would be a good idea.”  
“I knew you liked me.”  
“Get out of my office.”

* * *

“I’m thinking of applying for a new job.”  
“Oh really?” Dr. McCoy was actually surprised. “And what job is that?”  
“Dr. Leonard McCoy’s personal assistant.”  
McCoy rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Jim, that is not a real job.”  
“I’ll originate the position.”  
“No, you won’t.”  
“Come on, I would be the best personal assistant EVER.”  
“I have a secretary already.”  
“Fire her. I know Excel. I know computers.” He made the word sound scary.  
“Jim, I am not going to fire my secretary and hire you. I will not continue this discussion.”  
“Fine.” Jim slumped back on the couch.  
They sat in silence for a moment.  
“How was work this week, Jim?”  
“Sucked.”  
“In what way?”  
“In the way that it sucked. I don’t know. It was boring. It wasn’t fun.”  
“Jim, work isn’t necessarily supposed to be fun. It is a way to contribute productively to society while earning the money that you need to live.”  
“I'd rather be a movie star.”  
“Why don’t you consider enrolling in some acting classes?”  
“Classes? Sounds boring.”  
“Jim, you seem to have an overly averse reaction to the possibility of boredom.”  
“You know what I need?”  
“I’m terrified to ask.”  
“I need a Fight Club.”  
“No, Jim, you don’t.”  
“Yeah, I do. I need to go out there and fight dudes and regain my manhood.”  
McCoy raised an eyebrow. “Jim, you do realize Fight Club is a fictional movie, right?”  
“Yes, Leonard. I’m not delusional, if that’s what you’re asking.”  
“Okay, okay. Just thought I’d make sure.”  
Jim leaned forward. “You’re doing a great job with me, you know that?”  
“I’m sorry?”  
“You know… helping me talk through my issues and stuff… therapy-ing… anyway, you’re doing a great job. I just thought I would let you know that.”  
“Thank you, Jim. Jim, does anyone offer you praise at your office? Tell you you’re doing a good job?”  
“Oh, no way! But, that’s ‘cause I do a terrible job. Seriously. Horrible. Would you like to visit my office some day?”  
“No.”  
“Really? Don’t you think it would be helpful? You could gain some serious insight into my life.”  
Bones ran a hand over his face.  
“God, that’s the last thing I need.”  
“Hey! Isn’t that your job?”  
“I hate my job.” He looked at the ceiling and prayed for patience.  
“What? Really! Then you know exactly how I feel! Have you ever considered therapy?”  
“Look, Jim, I think it’s probably best that we continue our discussions here in my office. Why don’t you tell me a little more about the things that are bothering you.”  
“What’s bothering me, okay, hmm. Well, my therapist isn’t taking an adequate interest in my personal life, if that’s what you mean. I also haven’t gotten laid in a while, not that I’m saying the two are related, you understand.”  
“Jim.”  
“Fine. Look, I gotta run.”  
“Our session isn’t over yet.”  
“I have a date.”  
“A date?”  
“Yes, a date. Is that so surprising?”  
“Of course not. Are you excited about your date?”  
Jim stared at him blankly. “Honestly?”  
“Honestly.”  
“Honestly, I’d rather sit here watching you doodle on that fucking clipboard than go on what is sure to be an awkward date. And let’s face it, which one would be more likely to end in sex?”  
McCoy completely lost track of what Jim had been talking about. He managed to summon a professional sounding response. “Okay Jim, well, enjoy your date, I look forward to hearing about it next week.”  
“You want to hear about my date?”  
No. No he did not. “Of course, Jim. I want you to tell me about your life. That’s what I’m here for.”  
“You say the cutest shit sometimes, you know that?”  
“Goodbye Jim.”  
“Bye Leonard. I’ll miss you.”

* * *

"Seriously, you should come visit my cubicle some time. Have you ever seen a paperclip zoo?"  
"A what?"  
"A paperclip zoo. I made one on my desk. Took me an entire day. It's amazing. I wish you would come see it."  
"I'm not coming to your cubicle."  
"Fine. It's your loss though. You should see this thing, it's a work of art. The zebras are amazing."  
"I'm sure they are."  
"Actually, that's the reason I'm here."  
"You're here because of the zebras?"  
"Noooo, I'm here because my boss saw my paper clip zoo and told me I needed therapy."  
"Really? And you listened?"  
"I figured I'd try it out. Something new and different. Like an extreme sport."  
"You thought therapy would be like an extreme sport?"  
"Well, how would I know? I didn't know we'd just be sitting in a room talking. Well, I'm talking. You're doodling."  
Dr. McCoy set his pen down. "So it hasn't been as thrilling as you anticipated?"  
"Well, not exactly, but...I'm here, aren't I?"  
"Why do you keep coming?"  
"I dunno. You're a good therapist."  
"I'm glad you think so."  
"Well, you're a good looking therapist at least."  
"Jim, you know I have to dissuade you from taking the conversation in this direction."  
"I know. Even though you secretly like it."  
"Let's move on."

* * *

"I'm in a play."  
Dr. McCoy dropped his pencil in shock.  
"You're what?"  
"I'm in a play. You know. It's like, a bunch of people on stage, talking to each other..."  
"I know what a play is."  
"Oh."  
"So, does this mean you actually took my suggestion to enroll in some acting classes?"  
"Pshh. I skipped that part, went straight to the audition. Apparently, I'm a natural." He stood up and took a bow.  
"Well, congratulations."  
"Thanks, Leonard! So, are you going to come?"  
"What?"  
"Are you going to come to my play?"  
"I don't make it a habit of participating in my patient's lives."  
Jim jumped up. He put a hand to his chest and held out his arm. “To do, or not to do, that is the question!”  
“Isn’t it ‘to be or not to be’?”  
“Well, yeah, but since I’m not suicidal, that’s not my problem, is it? I’m trying to adapt the script to fit the situation.”  
“That’s very creative.”  
“Thank you, I try,” Jim said, falling back onto the couch dramatically, holding an arm over his eyes. He peeked out. “That was a swoon.”  
“Lovely.”  
“You’re so good at humoring me, Leonard.”  
“Well, I do get paid for it.”  
Jim sat up. “Wait, these sessions cost money?!” He looked shocked.  
McCoy looked concerned for a moment. Jim laughed. “I’m kidding, Doc. I’m not a complete idiot, I just play one in the office.”  
McCoy shook his head. “Speaking of which, I think our time is up. Good luck in your play.”  
“Thanks. Sure you don’t want to come?”  
“Pretty sure.”  
“Okay, well…if you change your mind… say you need a place to take a hot date or something…it’s at the Riverside Playhouse on Friday night at 7:00.”  
“Okay, Jim.”  
“Are you gonna write that down?”  
“No.”  
“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you next week then.”  
“Sounds good.”  
Jim waved as he left the office. As soon as he was gone, McCoy scribbled “Friday, 7 PM, Riverside Playhouse” in his day planner.

* * *

The secretary buzzed him on the intercom. “Yes Christine?”  
“I just wanted to let you know that you have a patient cancellation for this week. Jim Kirk.”  
McCoy’s stomach clenched. “Thanks Christine. You know you don’t have to keep me informed about every cancellation.”  
“I know, sir. I don’t. Just Jim Kirk.” She hung up. Dr. McCoy sat looking at the intercom for a long moment.

He stopped at her desk on his way out. “Christine, could I have a moment?”  
“Of course, Doctor.”  
“I tried not to ask you this all day, but I can’t help it – why is it that you feel the need to inform me when Jim Kirk cancels?”  
“Well… you seem to look forward to his visits, sir.”  
“Do I?”  
“Yeah. I mean, you always look happier on the days when he has an appointment. Before he arrives, at least. After he leaves, you always look a little grumpy.”  
“Thanks for the analysis, Christine. Has anyone ever told you that you would make a great therapist?”  
She smiled as he left the office.

* * *

Jim took the call from his office cubicle. “Jim Kirk, Department of Hellfare and Human Nuisances.”  
“Mr. Kirk, this is Christine from Dr. McCoy’s office.”  
He sat up in his seat. “Yeah?”  
“I just wanted to let you know that Dr. McCoy will be out of the office tomorrow, so he won’t be available for your regularly scheduled appointment.”  
“What? Doesn’t he know that disruptions to my therapy routine could be extremely detrimental to my mental health?”  
“I’m sure he does, Mr. Kirk. I’m sure he doesn’t take his absences lightly.”  
“Well, he should. He needs a vacation.”  
“I’ll be sure to pass that on to him.”  
“Hey, Christine.”  
“Yes?”  
“Does Dr. McCoy like me?”  
“The doctor doesn’t discuss his patients with me, sir.”  
“’Cause I like him.”  
“Dr. McCoy is an excellent doctor.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Will we see you next week then?”  
“If you’re lucky!” he said cheerfully, hanging up. He slumped back in his seat, pouting, and resumed renovations of the paperclip penguin exhibit.

* * *

Dr. McCoy was exhausted, and he looked it as he left the office. His suit was rumpled and he hadn’t shaved for a couple days. He was standing on the sidewalk in front of his office building, looking lost, when he heard a horn honk across the street. He glanced idly toward the source of the sound, and was shocked to see Jim Kirk leaning out the window of an old-school convertible, honking and waving at him. He rolled his eyes, shook his head, and headed across the street toward the car. He leaned into the window. “Jim. What are you doing here?”  
“I missed you.”  
“Jim, you can’ t do this. This is called stalking.”  
“I’m not stalking you. I heard you were out sick yesterday, so I decided to stop by.”  
“You did not hear that.”  
“I heard you spent the day golfing.”  
“No.”  
“I heard you were recovering from a wild, drug-fueled orgy?”  
“Good try. I’m sorry I had to cancel our appointment. I had my reasons. None of the ones that you mentioned.”  
“Which one came closest?”  
“Jim…”  
“Come on, Leonard. Get in the car. You look like hell. Let’s get dinner.”  
McCoy was starving. He was exhausted. He was not in a state to make good judgments. He got in the car.  
Jim bounced in his seat with excitement.  
McCoy leaned his head back against the headrest. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.  
“I’m so excited to communicate with you outside of the professional setting,” Jim said. “Are you excited, Leonard?”  
McCoy made a frustrated sound and turned to Jim. "Look, call me Bones, okay?"  
Jim raised an eyebrow. "Bones?"  
"Yeah, it's what my friends call me. No one calls me Leonard except my mom."  
Jim broke into a grin. "You mean we're friends now?"  
"Well, we're either friends, or you're kidnapping me."  
"You came willingly!"  
"I can always argue that you used deceptive tactics to get me into the car."  
"What deceptive tactics?!"  
"Well, acting relatively normal, for one."  
"Ha ha."  
"Where are we going, anyway?"  
"We're going to dinner. I'm paying. Big government salary, you know."

Leonard – Bones - looked amazing sitting across the booth from him, with his suit, his stubble, eating a mozzarella stick. Jim was a little disappointed that he hadn’t taken him up on his suggestion to get a corn dog, but he supposed this was good enough.  
“Jim?”  
“Huh?”  
“You’re staring at me. Also, you have ketchup on your chin.”  
“Sorry,” he said, not at all apologetic. He wiped his chin on a napkin and tried to focus on his French fries.  
McCoy looked perfectly content to keep eating in silence, but for Jim Kirk, that just wasn’t an option.  
“Soooo….”  
McCoy looked at him with a question in his eyes.  
“Let’s talk!”  
“About what?”  
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask me some of those inane questions you’re so fond of?”  
“Jim, you do realize I went to school for, like, eight years to learn how to ask those questions.”  
“Wow, that’s…terrible.”  
“God. Tell me about it.”  
“Okay, so…tell me about some of your other patients. The crazies.”  
“I’d love to, unfortunately, there is such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality.”  
“Oh. You do that?”  
“Yeah, I ‘do that’.”  
“So…you don’t talk about me with your friends?”  
“My friends? Um, no, I don’t talk about you with my friends.”  
“You think about me though.”  
McCoy looked at him. “All the goddamn time.”  
“What, really?”  
“Yes. Professionally. I try to figure out what goes on in that mind of yours.”  
“Any luck?”  
“Not so far.”  
Jim grinned and munched on a fry. “Haven’t figured out what to do with me yet, have you? Professionally, I mean.”  
“Not a clue.”  
“Well, if it’s any consolation, you’re helping me right now.”  
“Am I?”  
“Yup. Talking to me. Being my friend. Buying me French fries.”  
“I thought you were buying.”  
“I thought you’d eat a corndog.”  
“Next time.”  
“Deal.”

They walked across the parking lot towards Jim’s car. McCoy put his hands in his pockets and glanced at Jim. “Uh, Jim, do you think you could-“  
“Drive you home? Of course.”  
“Hell no. There’s no way I’m letting you find out where I live. Why don’t you drive me back to the office and I’ll drive myself home.”  
“I don’t know, you were hittin’ the Pepsi pretty hard back there, you sure you’re okay to drive?”  
“Ha.”  
They got in the car. Jim put the keys in the ignition, but didn’t turn on the car. He gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead.  
“Jim?”  
“Leonard…”  
“Bones, remember? Jim, please don’t say something serious.”  
“Bones…” Still looking forward, Jim pressed his palms against the sides of the steering wheel. McCoy looked concerned. Jim turned toward him, took a breath like he was about to say something, then leaned over the center console, and brushed a kiss gently against the corner of his mouth. He sat back quickly, looking away from McCoy out the front windshield.  
“I’m sorry.” Jim squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head a little. “That was dumb. I’m dumb. Don’t hate me.”  
McCoy bit his lip. He looked at Jim’s profile in the dark.  
“Do you ever…fire…your patients? ‘Cause…that would suck.”  
“Jim…” McCoy reached a hand out and took hold of Jim’s sleeve. Jim looked toward him. The innocently hopeful look in his blue eyes crumbled any resolve that McCoy had been holding on to. He slid a hand up and around the back of Jim’s neck and pulled him in for a real kiss. Their lips parted together, tongues meeting halfway, teasing, exploring. Jim pressed his tongue deeper into McCoy’s hot mouth, wanting to make the kiss last all night, feeling that it would if only they didn’t need to breathe. Jim pulled back, panting.  
“Is this an approved therapeutic technique?”  
“Yeah. This is the part of therapy that doesn’t involve talking.”  
McCoy pulled him in for another kiss.  
Jim pushed forward against him and was in the process of climbing over the center console, when McCoy took hold of his shoulders and held him back. “Jim. Can we…?”  
“Yeah. My place.”  
Jim threw himself back into the driver’s seat, turned the key in the ignition, and peeled out of the parking lot while McCoy held on for dear life.

* * *

As soon as the door to Jim’s apartment closed, they were on each other, neither sure who had made the first move. McCoy pulled Jim’s shirt off and was tugging at his belt. Jim interrupted him, leaning in for a long, passionate kiss. He pulled back, smiling, whispered in his ear, “I knew you liked me.”  
McCoy pressed him backwards until he fell onto the couch, yanking his pants off in the process. Jim pulled him down, wrapping a leg around McCoy’s legs and lifting his hips to press their bodies together. “And I always knew we’d end up on a couch together.”  
McCoy crouched over him, running a hand through his hair. The only light in the apartment came from streetlights streaming in through the window.  
McCoy hesitated for a moment. “What do you want to do?”  
“I don’t know. Do you want to fuck me?”  
God, yes. But no, no. “I don’t think we should introduce any kind of power dynamic that might affect our doctor-patient relationship?”  
“Seriously? You’re still thinking about that? Fine. How about you suck my dick, and I’ll suck yours?”  
“You have a dirty mouth.”  
“Shut me up.”

He did, first with a deep kiss, then with a sure hand tugging at his boxers, and then it was less a matter of shutting him up and more a matter of listening to the incomprehensible sounds that were coming out of Jim’s mouth as McCoy ran his tongue around the head of his perfect cock. He forced himself not to rush, to explore Jim with his tongue, licking down his length and swiping lightly at his balls and ignoring Jim’s comment that “this was the best therapy ever,” before finally taking him into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked, as he let Jim press in deeper, as the feeling of Jim sliding slick and hard against the inside of his cheeks brought him close to the edge. He took Jim in farther and he swallowed and the sensation made Jim shout in pleasure as he came hard into the back of McCoy’s throat. McCoy pulled back, licking his lips and moved up to kiss Jim hard on the mouth. He bucked involuntarily against Jim’s hip, and he was so far gone that there was no holding back and he rutted against Jim until he came in his jeans, squeezing his eyes shut. He collapsed against Jim’s side, clutching an arm around him to keep from falling off the couch.  
“Fuck, Jim.” He batted Jim’s hand away from his crotch, embarrassed.  
“God, that was amazing. You’re amazing.” He looked at McCoy, kissed him on the forehead. “Want to do that again?”  
“Hell yeah. When were you thinking?”  
“Five minutes? My bedroom?”  
They scrambled up off the couch and Jim pulled McCoy by the hand into his bedroom. McCoy pulled the rest of his clothes off as he followed, and together they fell onto the bed in a tangle of naked limbs. Their bare chests rested against each other, as Jim looked down at McCoy. He grinned. “This looks familiar.”  
McCoy raised an eyebrow.  
“You know how you were always trying to figure out what was going on in my head during our therapy sessions?”  
“Yeah.”  
“It was this.”

* * *

“Morning Doctor McCoy.” Jim grinned sleepily.  
"Oh God. I'm a terrible therapist."  
"’S’okay. You make up for it in...other areas."  
McCoy punched him lightly in the bare arm.  
"That's domestic violence. You should advise me to leave you immediately."  
“I told you I was a terrible therapist.” He got up, pulled his pants on and headed for the bathroom. He washed his face, then glanced around the apartment. The apartment was spacious, with big windows and white walls, tastefully furnished with Ikea furniture. There were few personal touches in the room, besides a large framed picture of Jim Kirk’s face resting on the entertainment center. McCoy stared at it for a moment, then shook his head at the picture, hoping desperately that it was intended to be ironic. He turned and made his way into the kitchen.

Jim lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, until he heard the gurgle of the coffee maker. He flopped onto his elbows at the end of the bed, looking out the door of the bedroom.  
“Hey! Are you making coffee in my kitchen?”  
“Yes.”  
“That’s really hot.”  
He climbed out of bed, wrapping a sheet around his waist, and wandered into the kitchen. McCoy was standing in the middle of it, staring down at the kitchen table.  
“Jim?”  
“Yeah?”  
“What is this?”  
Jim peered over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. “Oh. That’s my application. To the police academy.”  
“You want to be a cop?”  
“Hey, I thought you would congratulate me. I’m taking my life into my own hands here!”  
“Being a cop is dangerous, Jim.”  
Jim slipped an arm around his waist, and kissed his cheek. “Aww, Bones, I didn’t know you cared.”  
McCoy was silent for a moment.  
“Bones?” Jim sounded serious.  
“Yes?”  
“Did you come to my play?”  
He didn’t answer.  
Jim nuzzled his face into McCoy’s neck. “I was hoping you would,” he said.  
“I know.”  
“Were you there?”  
“Yes.”  
“Why didn’t you stay and talk to me?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“How was I?”  
“You were amazing.” He turned and took Jim into his arms, kissing him deeply.  
He pulled away and ran a hand through his hair. "Argh. Why is this happening to me?"  
"Jeez, that's usually not the reaction I get the morning after."  
McCoy looked at him suspiciously. "From who?"  
"Well, half the people in my office, for starters."  
McCoy shook his head. "This is ridiculous. Of all the people who come into my office, why did I have to fall for you?"  
“Seriously. I bet you get tons of hot chicks in there. Hot, mentally disturbed chicks, just ripe for the taking.”  
“I prefer mentally disturbed government employees.”  
"Do you love me?"  
"Jim, don't say that."  
"Why not? I love you. I told you that at our first session. What makes you think anything's changed?"  
McCoy covered his face with both hands and moaned. "Oh God, I’m such a bad therapist, I can't even tell if you're insane." He looked up. "Are you insane?"  
"Only a little."  
"I think I'm going insane."  
"Do you need a therapist to work through your feelings about me?"  
"I don't know. I need something. Coffee. Whiskey, maybe. Maybe whiskey in coffee."  
"Maybe we should spend the day together."  
"That is most definitely not the solution."  
"Why? Got plans?"  
"No."  
"Come on. Let's do something. Something...spontaneous."  
"Like what?"  
"I don't know. Let's go...skydiving!"  
"Hell no."  
"Go carting."  
"No."  
"Ice skating."  
"You are insane."  
"Let's go to a movie."  
McCoy hesitated. Jim jumped on it.  
"Come on, let's go to a movie! Think about it...sitting next to me...me not talking."  
"It does have a certain appeal."

They picked a movie with a lot of action. Jim coated his popcorn in butter juice, and pulled McCoy into the back row of the theater.  
“Why are we in the back?”  
“So we can make out.”  
“We’re not making out during the movie.”  
“What?! Then what the hell’s the point?”  
“The movie.”  
“Nooo….”  
“The butter juice?”  
“Ah yes. Now I remember.” He shoved a greasy handful into his mouth as the lights dimmed.

Jim was in the middle of a fake yawn-and-stretch move when McCoy elbowed him. “Quit it.”  
“Please?”  
“No. I’m watching the movie.”  
“Fine.”  
Jim slid a hand onto McCoy’s leg. McCoy lifted it off and put it back on Jim’s, but not before Jim threaded their fingers together and held on. McCoy rolled his eyes.  
“Are you even watching the movie?”  
“Be quiet, I’m watching the movie.”  
McCoy squeezed his hand. Jim pulled his hand over to brush it against the bulge in his jeans. He bit his lip and looked at McCoy hopefully. McCoy shook his head, and pulled his hand away.  
Jim chose a particularly dramatic moment to make his next move, sliding his hand onto McCoy’s lap and squeezing gently. He rubbed slowly over the bulge in McCoy’s pants. McCoy bit his lip and tried desperately to act like he was watching the terrible dramatic scene currently on screen. His hips betrayed him though, twitching under Jim’s touch. Jim pressed harder, and grinned as McCoy’s breath hitched. Jim continued stroking him over his jeans, then leaned over and bit down lightly on McCoy’s earlobe. McCoy bit his fist over a muffled groan, and pushed Jim’s hand off of him, breathing heavily and squeezing his eyes shut. He leaned over to Jim, who looked entirely too satisfied for his own good.  
"You're gonna pay for that when we get home." McCoy's voice was a low rumble in his ear.  
"God, Bones, I could come just listening to your voice."  
"Too bad I don't talk during movies."  
Jim slouched lower in his seat, squirming.

McCoy dragged Jim out of the theater after the movie, ignoring his whines to get more movie popcorn for the ride home. In the car they sat quietly for a minute.  
“So…am I dropping you off at the office now?”  
McCoy leaned back against the headrest. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that would be wise.”  
“I hate being wise.”  
“Me too.”  
“Are you sick of me yet?”  
“Strangely, no.”  
“So…my place then?”  
“Okay.”

When they got back to the apartment, McCoy pushed Jim up against a wall and kissed him like it had been weeks since they had done that, instead of hours. “Wow,” Jim panted. McCoy planted kisses down Jim’s jaw and sucked at his neck, marking him. He pulled back, fighting the urge to cling to Jim and never let go. He looked into Jim’s eyes and saw the same wide, wild look reflected back at him. He took a deep breath and slid his arms around Jim, relaxing, holding him, burying his face in Jim’s neck. Jim held him back, and they breathed in sync, hearts pounding. “Hey Bones.”  
“Yeah.” Jim felt the word against the skin of his neck.  
“Want to take this hugfest to the bedroom?”  
He felt the huff of McCoy’s laugh. “I don’t know.”  
“You don’t know?”  
“I don’t know if I can let go of you long enough to get there.”  
Jim smiled. He slid down the wall, out of McCoy’s embrace, then made a break for the bedroom. McCoy chased after him, and tackled him onto the bed, laughing. He pinned Jim’s wrists above his head on the mattress.  
“Hey Bones.”  
“What?”  
“You know how you’re a terrible therapist?”  
“Gee, thanks.”  
“I’m just saying…since that’s already an established fact…maybe it would be okay if we…what did you call it before… ‘introduce a power dynamic that might affect our doctor-patient relationship’.” He pushed his hips up, grinding into McCoy. McCoy ground back, moving against him, groaning at the sensation.  
“Jim, I…. I don’t think…” McCoy could barely speak through his desperation.  
Jim caught his eye. “Bones… please… I want you… I want you to have me … I’m yours.”  
“Jim, don’t say that.”  
“I mean it. Bones, please. I don’t say this shit to just anyone. And I don’t do _this_ for anyone.” He squirmed around, twisting his hands in McCoy’s grip until he was face down on the bed. He wiggled up until he was on his knees, pressing his ass against McCoy’s crotch.  
“Goddamn, you’re flexible.”  
“Goddamn, you’re hard.” Jim rubbed against him. McCoy groaned and bit his lip. “Bones…”  
“Yeah?”  
“Could you please take my pants off? I’m beginning to experience some discomfort in a very critical area.”  
McCoy let go of Jim’s wrists and flipped him back over onto his back to undo his jeans. He pulled them off, then leaned across to grab a condom and some lube out of the bedside table drawer.  
“How the fuck did you know that would be there?”  
“I know the innermost workings of you mind.”  
“That’s terrifying.”  
“Tell me about it. Now where were we?”  
“You were going to take your pants off.”  
“Was I?”  
“You’d better.”  
He complied, scrambling out of his jeans and boxers as fast as possible, then sliding the condom and a generous amount of lube onto his cock. Jim twitched in anticipation as McCoy pressed lightly against him.  
“Hey Jim.”  
“Yeah.” It came out as a moan.  
“Don’t say anything about therapy, okay?”  
“Uh huh.”  
“In fact, don’t say anything at all.”  
Jim lifted his head up. “Do you even know me?”  
And that’s all he could say before his world exploded in a white light of pleasure and pain as Bones pushed into him. Or at least, that’s all he could say coherently, before it all turned to moaning and keening and what sounded to McCoy like vaguely recognizable curse words interspersed frequently with his name. McCoy bit his lip at the feeling of Jim’s tight heat around his cock, a sensation so overwhelming that he almost didn’t want to move. But Jim squirmed beneath him, wanting more, and McCoy gave it to him, thrusting hard. Jim cried out, and McCoy reached up, slipping two long fingers into Jim’s mouth. Jim sucked them hard as McCoy thrust into him in a desperate rhythm. Finally, he pulled his now slick fingers out of Jim’s mouth and wrapped them around Jim’s cock. He’d barely stroked him once before Jim was coming, spurting onto his stomach. The sight of it was all McCoy could bear before he was coming too, exploding into Jim as waves of pleasure wracked his body.  
He pulled out, collapsing on Jim, panting, torn between wanting to sleep and wanting to clutch, to kiss and even, god forbid, to talk. He smiled into Jim’s neck. “Mind if I stay here for a while?”  
“Stay forever.”

* * *

“Hi Christine.”  
“Good morning, Doctor.”  
“Christine, can I ask you a personal question.”  
“Um, sure?”  
“I feel like a jerk asking this but, have you…slept…with Jim Kirk?”  
“Nope. Have you?”  
He squinted at her.  
“Now, why would you ask me that?”  
She smiled. He frowned, shook his head, and shut the door to his office.

The phone rang between appointments.  
"Dr. McCoy's office."  
"Hi." Jim sounded shy. McCoy leaned on his desk.  
"Hi."  
"Do you miss me?"  
"As unlikely as it seems, yes, I do."  
"I miss you, too."  
"You don't say."  
"What are you wearing?"  
"Bye Jim."  
"Dammit. Dinner tonight?"  
"It's been 24 hours since we saw each other."  
"I know. I'm dying here."  
"I have to stay late at the office to go over some paperwork."  
"I'll bring takeout."  
"Fine."  
"Awesome. See you at 7:00."  
"Bye Jim."  
"Bye Bones."  
"Wait - Jim!"  
"Yeah?"  
"We're not doing it on the couch."  
"Uh huh, okay, Bones."

He appeared at McCoy’s office door at 7:00, a bag of Chinese food in one hand and a bag of Mexican in the other. McCoy took the bags from him, wrinkling his nose. “These do not go together.”  
“I wasn’t sure which one you’d prefer. I don’t really know you.” He stepped closer, whispered in McCoy’s ear. “Except, you know, I do know about that spot…you know…the one that makes you make that little sound in the back of your throat.” He slid a hand around McCoy’s waist, tugged his shirt up a little, and slipped his fingers under the waistband. There was a slight rumble from the back of McCoy’s throat. “Yeah. That’s the sound I’m talking about.”  
McCoy bit lightly at Jim’s earlobe and kissed him lightly on the neck before saying, in his most seductive voice, “We are not having sex on the couch. And, I like Chinese food. I don’t suppose you got any dumplings?”  
“I got your dumplings. I’m all over your dumplings.” Jim grabbed McCoy’s ass firmly with both hands. McCoy pushed him off, laughing, and they took a seat.  
McCoy pulled a set of chopsticks out of the bag, holding them just out of Jim’s reach. “I don’t even want to know what you’ll do if set loose with a pair of chopsticks.”  
“For your safety and mine, why don’t you keep those away from me.”  
“How was work today?”  
“Please. You’re not seriously asking me that.”  
“Sorry.”  
“I had a great day.”  
“What? Really?”  
“Yeah. I think I may have found the solution to my boredom problem.”  
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”  
“You.”  
“Me?”  
“Yeah. Remember this weekend?”  
“Vividly.”  
“I have never been less bored in my life.”  
“Really? I consider myself a very boring person.”  
“You know how I thought therapy was like an extreme sport?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well, it’s not. At all. But you know what is?”  
“Oh Lord. What?”  
“Banging your therapist!” Jim grinned triumphantly at his announcement and popped a dumpling into his mouth.  
“How long have you been waiting to say that to me?”  
Jim looked thoughtful as he chewed.  
“’Bout 8 hours.”  
“Uh huh. So do you think you’ll like your job more, now that you’re not bored?”  
“Like it, yes. Accomplish things, no. I literally spent all day daydreaming about you.”  
“And before this weekend…?”  
“Only would have been half a day, max.”  
“I…don’t really know how to feel about this.”  
“A therapy success!”  
“Funny, since I believe most psychology textbooks would put this cure squarely in the ‘failure’ category.”  
“Fuck psychology. Bones, you’re making me happy. I recommend that you continue on your present course.”  
“They do say that interruptions to the therapeutic routine can be quite traumatic to the patient.”  
“Exactly.”

* * *

The phone rang in Jim’s cubicle.  
“Jim Kirk, how may I service you today?”  
“That’s how you answer the phone?”  
“Hi honey!”  
“Shut up. What are you doing?”  
“Reformatting Excel sheets.”  
“Jim, that sounds suspiciously like actual work. Are you feeling okay?”  
“Ha ha. Where are you? I tried you at the office earlier.”  
“I’m in your apartment, actually. Making you dinner.”  
“You’re in my apartment? Who’s the crazy stalker now?”  
“I know. Something is obviously wrong with me.”  
“Are you going through my stuff?”  
“No.”  
“You can, you know.”  
“Thanks.”  
“So, you cook?”  
“Not really. I’m making spaghetti.”  
“I love spaghetti!”  
“Everyone loves spaghetti.”  
“Yeah, but I love spaghetti the MOST!”  
“Yeah, well, come home and eat it then.”  
“I can’t leave yet. It’s only 4:15.”  
“Uh huh. And what time do you usually leave.”  
“Oh, never before 4:25.”  
“Get over here.”  
“You’re such an enabler.”

* * *

“That spaghetti was delicious, oh my God. I’m gonna write about it in my diary.”  
They were on the couch, Jim having somehow maneuvered his head into McCoy’s lap, where he lay looking up at him and grinning. McCoy threaded his fingers in Jim’s hair and leaned back, content.  
“You have a diary?”  
“Are you asking me as my therapist or as my boyfriend?”  
“As your…what?”  
“Never mind. I have a diary…in my head. Dear Diary, Today I had an appointment with the dreamiest therapist. Must make sure to have many issues so that I can keep visiting.”  
“That’s nice. Makes so much more sense now.”  
“Ask me another question.”  
“Why?”  
“We’re playing therapist.”  
“I don’t want to play therapist. I am a therapist. Would you want to play Excel?”  
“Bones, don’t be silly, you can’t play Excel. Come on, ask me a question.”  
“Did you mean what you said before?”  
“What?”  
“About…you know…when you said I was your…boyfriend.”  
“Yeah. Kinda. Are you?”  
“By my count we’ve only been on three dates.”  
“By my count we’ve spent 68 hours together. And 42 of those were in the last week.”  
“Good point.”  
“So?”  
“I don’t know, Jim…”  
“Scared of commitment?”  
“No.”  
“Scared of me?”  
“No.” He smiled, ran his fingers through Jim’s hair.  
“Scared of being a bad therapist?”  
“It’s a little too late for that, isn’t it?”  
“You’re a good therapist.”  
“Thanks.”  
“I mean, look how I turned out.”  
“Somehow that does not make me feel better.”  
“You’d be an even better boyfriend though.”  
“Okay.”  
Jim sat up, looked at him. “Okay?”  
“Okay. I want to be your boyfriend.”  
Jim kissed him on the lips.  
“You won’t regret it.”  
“I already do.”

* * *

They lay in bed, comfortable in the darkness, a strip of moonlight illuminating McCoy’s face. He looked deep in thought.  
“Bones?”  
“Yeah.”  
“It’s gonna be okay.”  
He looked at Jim. “What is?”  
“You and me. You can stop waiting.”  
“Waiting?”  
“You look like you’re waiting. I think you’re waiting to see if I lose it…if I go crazy or something.”  
“That’s very perceptive of you, Jim.”  
“You’re in therapist mode now.”  
“So are you.”  
Jim nodded. “Well, I’m not crazy, okay?”  
McCoy was silent for a moment. “I love you.”  
“You do?”  
“Yeah. I wanted you to know. I was waiting to say it. I’ve felt this way for a while, but I was waiting until it made more sense. Until I could actually figure out why. But, as it turns out, it’s just a goddamn irrational, illogical-“  
“Amazing, wonderful feeling?”  
“Yeah, basically.”  
Jim kissed him. “I’m sorry this had to happen to you.”  
“What?”  
“Falling in love with me. It’s a fate I try to help most people avoid.”  
“Well, you failed in my case.”  
“In your case, I didn’t try.”  
“Well, thanks, I guess.” He pulled Jim into his arms.  
“Say it again.”  
“What?”  
“You know. Just say it one more time.”  
“I love you.”  
Jim smiled and snuggled into his chest, and they drifted off to sleep.


End file.
